


Court of the Second Sons

by IWillSingWithYou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 16th Century, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Historical, M/M, Medieval, Medieval AU, Prince!Louis, Renaissance, Renaissance Era, Royalty, Tudors AU, artist!zayn, french!Louis, prince!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillSingWithYou/pseuds/IWillSingWithYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BEING REWRITTEN! 16th century Europe. When the king of England loses the war against France he is forced to give his second son, Harry, as insurance of his loyalty and compliance. In France, Harry will meet the French king’s second son: Louis. Their births would damn them to be forgotten by history, but their ambition and thirst for revenge might lead them onto a very different path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treason and War

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS IN THE PROCESS OF BEING ENTIRELY REWRITTEN. WHEN I HAVE FINISHED IT I'LL START PUBLISHING AGAIN BUT IT WILL BE ENTIRELY DIFFERENT. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE KIND COMMENTS, I HOPE YOU'LL LIKE THE IMPROVED VERSION ONCE I PUBLISH IT!
> 
> This is a bit of a strange story for me. It's probably going to be darker and bloodier than anything I've ever written. I tried to keep everything in the "It could've happened at the time" type of historical accuracy. However, I'm no historian and I am bound to make mistakes. Hopefully, this won't hurt your enjoyment of the story. 
> 
> I have deliberately meddled with the dates. You'll notice that Louis and Harry's fathers are kings Henry VIII and Francis I, however, the dates don't match. I did this to create a parallel between One Direction's time and the historical times. So Harry, instead of being born in 1994, is born in 1494. This means that there is difference of about 50 years between real history and the way I'm telling it. 
> 
> There are other historical events and characters that will appear and will not be entirely accurate. Most of this is deliberate, as I am taking events from a 100 years before and a 100 years after and organizing them to fit the plot. Of course, some parts of the plot are entirely made up.
> 
> I won't have anyone beta-ing this because I want to update often and just try out something new. If you see a mistake, please tell me and I'll correct it immediately. Nike (readingallaboutit) has been kind enough to go through the first few chapter, so I'll be correcting stuff as she sends it to me, if she wants to do it.

 

 

**Chapter 1: Treason and War**

_1 February 1504_

It’s Harry’s tenth birthday and he’s never been happier. His father got him a beautiful white horse and that’s more than Harry had ever expected. His whole family is there, too. His mom and his father  are sitting together, talking and laughing. Gemma is running away from her ladies-in-waiting at full speed, her dress already splattered with mud. She is always happier when she’s a little dirty – Harry loves her for that. Even Catherine, with her perfect hair and her perfect posture, seems to be enjoying herself. There’s only one member of the family missing: Richard. Harry was told that his brother has some business to attend to in Scotland but he knows better. A week earlier his father asked him what would make his birthday perfect and Harry had replied without thinking:

“If Richard wasn’t here, I would be very happy.”

His father had laughed and laughed, and then tried to scold him about it. It was too late, the laugh made Harry swell with pride.

He’s surrounded by people he loves and who love him, people he’s learned to understand, even as young as he is, and he’s happy.

 

It’s the last time he is happy in England for a very long time.

 

The next day French troops lay siege on Dover. His father keeps him close, tells him his plans and makes him sit through the most boring and worrying meetings. He knows what’s going on. His father demands it. They are not going to win this war.

 

A week later, disaster strikes. Harry is awoken in the middle of the night. In the feeble candlelight he distinguishes his mom, dressed for travel, and Mary, one of her ladies.

“We have to go now, Harry, quickly,” his mom says with such urgency that Harry jumps from bed and dresses. Mary packs for him, which he thinks is strange. They could just call for Jon, his manservant. He doesn’t say anything, though, because he can see his mom is worried. He’s glad Gemma left earlier that week for Norwich, she hates this kind of things.

 

They finally meet Jon at the stables, where he has already saddled three horses. He helps Harry onto his beautiful horse and then his mom onto her mare. Mary takes Harry’s hand and kisses it.

“Take care of your mother, little prince.” She says and Harry just blinks at her, not sure what’s happening. There are tears in her eyes.

“Godspeed, my queen.” She whispers and waves the three of them off. They tear into the darkness.

 

Jon hears them before Harry does. The prince just notices his manservant’s panic.

 

“Run, Harry.” He whispers. Harry does, his mom by his side. They don’t get far. There are soldiers, royal soldiers, waiting for them in the trees. They are surrounded. Jon unsheathes his sword but Harry knows it’s useless – there are too many.

“Jon, stop.” He orders, but Jon doesn’t listen. He steps in front of Harry and the queen.

“Queen Anne, you stand accused of treason. We will escort you to the Tower.” Harry’s eyes snap to Richard. Richard, who hasn’t been able to hold a sword the right way in his life, stands before them as the commander of the royal army he was always supposed to be but never was. And Harry knows that this is his doing. He knows the only reason Richard is standing with the army is because he wouldn’t miss their downfall for anything in the world.

“No, that’s madness. They’ll kill ‘em!” Jon shouts and widens his stance. Anne gets off her mare but isn’t fast enough to stop the bloodshed. Jon manages to kill four soldiers before someone plunges a sword through his heart. Harry feels too numb to shout or cry but as he sees Richard recoil from the blood in fear, he isn’t too numb to hate.

 

For two weeks Harry is kept in his chambers with only Dale, a new manservant, for company. He seethes. Eventually, he reads and tries not to think about his mother, locked in the Tower, waiting for almost certain death. His pleas to see his father go unanswered; as do his demands for information.

 

At the end of the second week he receives another visit in the night. This time, it’s his father. He’s alone.

“Father?” Harry whispers.

“Harry…,” his father breathes back and gathers him up in a hug. It’s so tight that he almost can’t breathe. “Harry, I’m sorry.” And he cries. He weeps on Harry’s chest and Harry doesn’t know what to do about that. He’s afraid. He’s so scared to think about what it means. His father lets him go and takes his face in his big hands. Harry looks at him, trying not to show how much he can’t forgive him.

“You have my eyes.” It ends up being the last thing his father ever says to him.

 

“You’re going to France.” Dale explains, as he packs Harry’s things. “You are going to be a guest at the French king’s court and that way your father can keep his crown.”

 

Harry doesn’t say anything. His mom is dead. Gemma is far away. And he has to leave everything he’s ever known to save his kingdom. After an hour, he asks:

“Are you coming with me?” Dale looks at him in compassion.

“No, my lord. You’re not allowed to bring anyone from here. They are letting you take your horse, though! That’s nice, isn’t it?”

Harry swallows. He hasn’t even named his horse yet.

 

They make a big ceremony about it. Harry only gets to see his father from the other side of the hall as Richard hands him over to a broad-shouldered man Harry thinks is the king of France.

 

The man takes him away and smiles a little cruelly as he makes him go into a woman’s carriage.

 

That evening they stop at Dover and spend the night in the castle. Harry manages to sneak out in the dark and goes to the stables.

 

His horse is the most magnificent of them all. Harry buries his face in his mane and whispers:

 

“You will be named Ares, and someday we will return together in war and I will kill Richard.”

 

Ares butts his chin against Harry’s shoulder and Harry takes it as agreement.

  
Four days later, he meets Louis for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr too. [iwillsingwithyoumyfriend](http://iwillsingwithyoumyfriend.tumblr.com)


	2. The French Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry arrives in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but they'll get longer over time. I hope you enjoy it. If you see any mistakes, please tell me about them.  
> Lou Reed died today. I just have to mention that. His songs have been so important to me all my life and I'm just really sad today. I hope this chapter is still good.

 

**Chapter 2: The French court**

 

_4 March 1504_

 

When they arrive, the king takes Harry and presents him as the spoils of war to his wife and children. He has a lot of them. One male, much older than Harry, stands proud with his black hair and dark blue eyes. He is presented as Prince Charles, the dauphin, and he presents his own wife, Mathilde, and their three daughters: Heloïse, Agnès and Béatrice. Then the green eyed boy is presented to Charles’ four sisters: Charlotte, Félicité and the twins, Margueritte and Phoebe.

 

Harry is a little overwhelmed by the amount of girls and struggles to remember all their names. He tries very hard to get all the names right as he repeats them back to their owners in greeting and bows before them. His French isn’t perfect and he takes too long. He’s starting to panic about the twins when the king asks:

“Where’s Louis?”

Harry remembers his father telling him that king François had two sons as well, and yet only one has come to receive him. Harry would never dare to be so disrespectful to his own father.

“He is hunting, votre Majesté.” The king purses his mouth but doesn’t comment. He orders an old man from the household assistants to take Harry to his room. The old man prods him meanly with his cane and orders others around to take Harry’s things with them.

 

He is led to a room that is unexpectedly pleasant. The bed is big and he even has a sitting area, shelves and an adjoined closet. It’s not entirely different from what he had in his father’s castle. The old man then introduces him to his new valet, which surprises Harry, since he had assumed he wouldn’t be given one. Paul, as Harry finds out he is called, quickly busies himself unpacking on Harry’s orders.

“That man never introduced himself,” he notes after a while and Paul looks up in confusion.

“Le Grand Chambellier?” he asks.

“Is that his title?” Paul nods.

“It is the highest title apart from the royal family someone can have at court, Monseigneur.”

“Like… Chancellor?” Harry tries to understand. The chancellor in his father’s court isn’t the highest title because he doesn’t need to be a nobleman from birth. Paul shrugs.

“I do not know that word,” he says simply. Harry notices his French is accented strangely; very different from what he’s heard so far.

“Where are you from?” he inquires.

“Guyenne, Monseigneur.” Harry raises his eyebrows. Up until a few years ago Guyenne was under English rule.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was a prisoner from war, monseigneur. That was a long time ago. I decided to stay here.” Harry swallows, beginning to understand why Paul had been assigned as his manservant. He was to like it, to grow to love this foreign court and this foreign country. It made his eyes water but he would not cry.

“I could never do that.” He states and Paul just looks at him. Harry explains. “I have to go back someday, to kill someone.” The older man sighs.

“Revenge is poison for the soul, sire.” Harry is fine with that.

 

There is a banquet that night, in honour of the king’s return. Harry is seated at the main table next to a beautiful boy. He isn’t used to finding boys beautiful, but this one definitely is. He has golden skin, caramel-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. All the girls of the family and the women of court flock to him, demanding his attention, which he seems delighted to give. Just when the food arrives, Harry tries his best to appear regal and clears his throat, gaining the boy’s attention.

“Hello, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Prince…”

“I know who you are.” The boy interrupts rudely. “I’m Prince Louis and you’re that English bastard my father collected.”

Harry swallows painfully. It’s not the first time he’s been called that in his life –Richard was always fond of the word in relation to Harry– but after all the courtesy that has been shown to him in this court, he wasn’t expecting an insult so soon. He turns to his food, no longer with any want to socialize. He hears the conversation beside him without meaning to.

“You will be nice to him or I’ll tell Father about it. I can assure you he won’t be pleased,” the dauphin is telling Louis and he is rolling his eyes in annoyance. Harry tries not to listen anymore.

 

The nightmares come that night for the first time. His mother finds no rest in the afterlife. Richard’s face at the sight of blood. His father’s apology.

He wakes up screaming. Paul arrives a few seconds later but Harry can’t even see him, he only sees blood and only hears screams.

 

“C’est quoi ce bordel?” a raspy voice asks and Harry whimpers. He doesn’t need to be mocked and called a bastard. Not now. He tries to dry his tears but they’re replaced with new ones too quickly. Louis sighs and orders Paul to bring water. Then he climbs right into bed with Harry and holds him.

“Tell me.” He says in English and Harry craves for that language; it makes his tears run with renewed force. “Come on, tell me what is making you cry.” Louis tenderly moves Harry’s hair out of his face and holds him, so Harry does. He tells him about his mother and Richard and his father’s attempts to seek forgiveness. He tells him about his fears in this new world, where he knows no one and no one wants him. Louis listens and rubs his back until Harry falls asleep, still talking.

 

\----------

 

Harry wakes up with Louis in his bed and feels shame clawing at his body. They’re not hugging anymore but they’re close enough that he feels the French prince’s body heat permeating his own skin. It makes him want to cry again but he will not. He is brave. That’s what his mother used to say to him – that he was the bravest boy. He’s not a boy anymore. Suddenly, he is painfully aware of that. Any remaining childhood faded when he felt his father’s tears through his shirt and decided not to forgive.

He notices Louis is awake suddenly. His blue eyes seem too deep and wise. Louis doesn’t show any emotion for long time as they look at each other.

“I wanted to apologize.” It’s the first thing he says. His accented english, and his raspy voice settle into Harry’s bones.

“What for?” Harry croaks too loudly and ugly for his present company.

“I called you something unfair yesterday and I shouldn’t have,” pretty Louis says and Harry can only nod.

“I have my father’s eyes,” he states because it is an unfair thing to be called and those were his father’s last words to him. Louis looks at said eyes for a long time before snapping into action and getting out of the bed.

“You will have training and tutoring at the same times I do. Get dressed, I’ll come back for you and give you the tour of the palace.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr too. [iwillsingwithyoumyfriend](http://iwillsingwithyoumyfriend.tumblr.com)


	3. A Brand New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry adapts better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! I hope you're all having a wonderful day! I like this chapter quite a bit and I hope you'll like it too. As always, if you see any mistakes, please point them out to me.

 

 

**Chapter 3: A Brand new world**

 

_25 January 1506_

 

It’s been more than two years since Harry came to Paris. He has adapted much quicker than he ever thought possible. The palace is a strange place that he has learned to love. The king has dedicated his whole life to build the greatest palace of Europe. He has brought the best architects and artists from all across the continent. It makes Harry buzz with excitement to talk to them, to learn what he can from them.

The king hates Paris, though. He prefers his castles in La Loire to the half-built titan in the center of a smelly city. In consequence, more often than not, the only members of the royal family in Paris are Louis and sometimes his sisters and the queen. This is mostly because Louis does what he wants, when he wants. That is something Harry learned very quickly.

 

Louis loves the big, unfinished palace even more than Harry does, so that’s where he stays. Louis also demands Harry to be there with him, which is no hardship at all for the young English prince.

They’ve become close friends, without even trying or realizing it. They spend almost every second of the day together, training, learning, playing, talking. It’s not a bad life at all and it has a slow, anchoring effect on Harry’s body. It feels a bit like falling into place.

 

They are in the library because Harry loves the books and it’s far too cold to train, so Louis indulges him. The green-eyed boy is reading Aristotle, still struggling with the latin a bit but enjoying it all the same, and Louis is absentmindedly playing with his curls while reading one of his many letters. Louis always has a lot of correspondence to get through. Harry doesn’t even know who half of the people who write to him are. It used to make him sad because his own mail came only once a fortnight, if he was lucky, and it was almost always from the same person: Gemma. But eventually, Louis noticed and asked his sisters to start writing to Harry when they weren’t in Paris. Harry knows it was Louis, no matter how much the blue-eyed boy denies it. So now, he receives letters from all the princesses regularly, and even gets the occasional, awkward letter from Héloïse. They always make him smile, no matter how awkward they are.

 

“The English ambassador went to Father with a proposal yesterday,” Louis announces, frowning down at the letter he’s reading. Harry stops reading and looks up, a little disgruntled that the hand in his hair has stopped its ministrations.

“What kind of proposal?”

“What do you think, Harry? Marriage,” Louis says with characteristic bite that Harry has learned not to take personally.

“Whose marriage?” he prods.

“Your father was considering marrying your brother to Lottie or Héloïse and me to Gemma.”

“No!” Harry replies without thinking. Both pairings make his stomach churn, albeit for very different reasons. Louis raises an eyebrow in his direction and Harry blushes in embarrassment.

“Why such a passionate “no”, dear Harry?” he teases. The English prince clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Lottie and Héloïse are both far too young for Richard. He’s thirty now. That’s more than twice Héloïse’s age.”

“If the marriage is advantageous enough, that can be overlooked,” Louis argues and Harry starts to panic. He’s not sure how much he should say.

“He likes it.” Is all he manages and Louis makes an inquiring sound. “Richard. He likes it too much.” Louis’ attention focuses completely on Harry all of a sudden.

“What do you mean?”

Harry swallows.

“His first wife died in childbirth. The baby died too.” He can see Louis still doesn’t understand. “She was too young for it. They weren’t supposed to be sharing a bed yet.”

It’s Louis’ turn to swallow.

“How old was she?” he asks cautiously, as if not wanting to know the answer.

“Eleven, when she gave birth.”

Louis looks like he wants to be sick for a moment. He seems to consciously gather his composure.

“Well, it’s a good thing that my father refused the proposal then, isn’t it?” His smile seems almost painful. Harry sighs in relief. Then he remembers.

“And you? To Gemma?” He feels selfish for disliking the idea. They would probably be good together. It would even be good for Harry’s own position. But he just feels restless. Louis smiles at him.

“Of course I can’t marry her,” he states simply. “I’m already promised to someone else.”

“What?” Harry’s voice is weaker than he would like.

“Didn’t you know? It’s been arranged for years now. I’m to marry Duchesse Eleanor de Guyenne.”

“I– I didn’t know.” Is all Harry manages and he’s turning away to hide the tears swimming in his eyes. They stay in silence for a moment until Louis sighs and pulls Harry closer to press a warm kiss to his cheek. He starts petting his hair again, tugging at his curls in a way that makes Harry want to purr.

“Silly Harry,” Louis murmurs against his hair and Harry just buries his face in his friend’s neck.

  
  


\-----------

  
  


_12 October 1509_

 

Over the years, Harry has had many troubled nights. The nightmares that started with his arrival in France have only decreased slowly. Louis is always there when they happen. His room is close enough that he can hear Harry scream, as he always does when his mother visits his dreams. So Louis and Harry have shared a bed many times in the last few years. Harry never sleeps better than when he is holding the older boy close, soaking up his warmth and breathing in his golden skin.

Despite this, he is very surprised when Louis sneaks into his bed on that windy autumn night. He wasn’t having a nightmare. In fact, he isn’t even asleep, too troubled and heartache-y to even try. Louis got married just a few hours ago. Harry knew it was coming for years but he still hates it. He hates it more because he understands perfectly how necessary it is. Their marriage strengthens the hold of the crown over Guyenne. Eleanor is even pretty and nice, which makes it all even more unacceptable in Harry’s eyes. But now Louis is here, in his bed, instead of hers and that’s something.

“Was she good? Did you enjoy yourself?” Harry asks anyway because he can’t help it. He feels Louis’ warm hand cover his mouth and surrenders to silence. Louis presses his whole body against Harry’s.

“Shh… shh, my silly, silly Harry.” Louis whispers over and over as he kisses Harry’s eyelids, cheekbones and hairline. He even kisses the back of his hand still over Harry’s mouth and it makes the younger boy’s insides ache with such intensity his eyes water.

 

\-------

 

Eleanor stays in Paris for only a month, but it seems like an eternity to Harry. Louis sneaks into his bed late at night every single night she’s there and that makes things a little better. But he still misses Lou during the day. Louis’ days now include entertaining his wife on top of training, and he no longer has time to sit by Harry as he studies or reads. Harry doesn’t like it one bit and he’s glad when she leaves for Guyenne again.

 

It strikes him only a few days after she leaves. He’s watching Louis train with one of the most experienced soldiers of the French army, far too experienced for Harry to even step near him. Louis is two years older than Harry, but that’s not the only reason he’s better than Harry at combat. Louis is incredibly talented, in a way that has gathered the attention of the whole country and is starting to spread over Europe. And as Harry just sits on the fence, watching him, he realises he’s in love with that man. Years of confusion and anger come into focus and readjust in his mind.

He catches Louis’ eyes from across the courtyard and smiles widely at him. It distracts Louis for half a second, but it’s enough for the Duc d’Angers to disarm him and put a sword at his throat. The disgruntled look in the prince’s face makes Harry laugh hard enough that he falls from his perch on the fence. All of a sudden, Louis is there on top of him, rubbing his disgustingly sweaty face all over Harry’s.

Harry screams and kicks to get away, but it’s all in vain. Eventually, Louis falls, exhausted, beside Harry on the grass. Their hands graze against each other between them. They’re both still laughing a bit when Louis says:

“I quite like having you here, Prince Harry.”

“I quite like being here, Prince Louis,” he answers, smiling.

They both hear the disproving taptaptap of the Grand Chambellier’s cane against the ground of the courtyard and know it’s time for lessons. Louis groans and Harry smiles at him as he helps him up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also on tumblr: [iwillsingwithyoumyfriend](http://iwillsingwithyoumyfriend.tumblr.com)


	4. Louis le bel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is sixteen and Louis is dazzlingly beautiful.

 

**Chapter 4: Louis le bel**

 

_25 July 1510_

 

Harry is so hot and sweaty he feels like he’s melting under the summer sun. Yet he continues to swing his sword heavily to answer Louis’ strikes.

“Oh, come on, Harry. You’re not even trying!” his friend says and Harry whines piteously. Louis’ passion for combat is admirable and on a normal day Harry can even give him a little bit of a competition. But this is probably the hottest day that has ever existed (he might be exaggerating a bit) and he can’t even think properly in the heat.

“Lou…” he tries, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Lou, Lou, Loulou…”

Louis sighs and hits his sword in that way of his that makes it impossible to hold on to it. Harry doesn’t even try, he just lets it go.

“There. I won. Again.” He picks up Harry’s sword and walks towards the armoury. A sigh of enormous relief bursts out of Harry as he follows after Louis.

He finds him already shirtless and wiping the sweat from his torso with a wet cloth. Harry feels himself blush at the sight. He has wished that as the years passed he would grow immune to Louis’ beauty, but he never does. He can’t be blamed, after all, Louis wasn’t nicknamed “le bel” for nothing. He is genuinely the most attractive person Harry has ever met. Their eyes lock and Harry worries that all his passion shows in his face.

“Weren’t you the one complaining about the heat?” Louis asks and throws another wet cloth at Harry’s face. It hits and almost falls to the ground before he catches it. Louis howls with laughter.

 

That night Louis finds Harry reading at candlelight in his room. He kisses the top of his head and ruffles his curls. Harry leans towards him.

“What have I told you about reading at night?” He takes a seat in the chair in front of Harry and places his feet on the table.

“I spend most days training with you, I must find time to read. Even if it’s at night.”

They’ve had this discussion many times before and Harry expects Louis to tell him that his excuse only applies in winter, as he has many times before. However, there is only silence. Harry looks up from his book and finds the beautiful blue eyes staring back at him.

“There are news.” Louis murmurs.

“News?” Harry prompts. Louis takes his feet off the table and leans towards Harry.

“From England.” Pause. “Your father is dying, Harry.” Louis keeps looking at him in the eye, waiting for some reaction to the information. But Harry just blinks a couple of times and nods.

“Right.” He says and leaves his book on the table. Louis knees in front of him, his hands seeking Harry’s.

“Are you… will you mourn him?” He asks and Harry thinks before he answers.

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Right.” Louis mimics but doesn’t let go of Harry’s hands. Harry leans forward and touches Louis’ forehead with his own.

“I’m not lying. He killed my mother. He was influenced by Richard, but he was the one to make the final decision.” Louis lets go of one of his hands and cups Harry’s cheek in his palm.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Harry takes a deep breath, filling his senses with everything that is Louis, the sounds of his breath, his scent, the exact shade of blue in his eyes.

“There is something else. My father wants you to convert to catholicism.”

“What?!” Harry splutters, distancing himself. “I will not!”

“No, no, listen to me.” The blue eyed boy pleads. “It makes perfect sense.”

“Well, explain.”

“Okay, when your brother, Richard, was born, your father’s first wife was still alive, correct?”

Harry nods, confused.

“Well, the pope never granted the annulment for his first marriage, so technically, his second marriage was not valid and therefore Richard isn’t the rightful heir to the throne.”

“So if I convert to catholicism, I can claim that because all of my father’s previous wives were dead, I am the rightful heir.” Harry concluded. Louis nods, proud.

“But I don’t believe in God.” Louis lifts his eyebrows but Harry knows it isn’t a big surprise. He avoids church as much as possible and has never made any claims towards any religion.

“But you would only need to say that you do.” This time Harry’s eyebrows are the one to rise. He leans towards Louis again.

“Is that what you would want of me? That I lie to my people? That I undermine the independence from Rome that has been my father’s life commitment?”

Louis stays silent but doesn’t look away from Harry’s eyes.

“France has been kind to me, you and your father especially. I won’t forget that, no matter what. But I will not convert.” Louis’ eyes close and his face shows regret. “Anyway, the point of the rightful heir will be moot when I kill Richard.” Louis’ eyes reopen and a smile graces his lips slowly. “Will you stand by my side in that endeavour?”

“Yes.” He breathes, filled with passion and conviction. Harry feels the urge to kiss him as a familiar ache in his veins.

 

Instead, he gets up and starts preparing for bed. He decides to forego his sleeping gown as the heat has his skin already covered by a sheen of sweat. As he turns to Louis again, completely naked. He sees the french prince openly staring at him, and feels a rush of pleasure course through his body. He quickly climbs into the bed, covering himself with a thin summer sheet. Louis still doesn’t move. Harry doesn’t mind, he always sleeps better when his friend is in the room anyway. He settles against his pillows and tries to block out the thoughts making his skin buzz with need.

“Good night, Lou.” He whispers and can practically feel Louis coming back to his senses.

“There’s something else I have to tell you.”

“Hmm?” Harry opens his eyes slowly, displaying more tiredness than he actually feels. He watches Louis fret with his hands a little before he looks up.

“Eleanor wrote to me.” He begins, and Harry’s jaw tightens. “She wants me to go to Guyenne and spend the rest of the summer there.”

Harry, indignant, turns his back in a huff and stares at the far wall opposite from where Louis is sitting.

“Harry…” Louis pleads. The younger boy doesn’t move. “Harry, darling, she’s my wife. I must see her.” That makes the english prince sigh.

“I know.” He acknowledges, but still refuses to turn. He’s painfully aware that an heir must come from that union. He knows he’s already lucky that she doesn’t like Paris, that she allows Louis to stay here, and that Louis hasn’t decided to leave permanently for Guyenne. “So go.” It’s Louis’ turn to sigh. Harry hears the chair scraping the floor as Louis stands up and then hears his steps coming nearer to the bed.

“Harry…” Louis whispers, right in the boy’s ear. He rests his hand on the bare shoulder and presses a kiss to the curly hair. “Look at me.” Harry shakes his head. Louis tries to pull on his shoulder to turn him, but he resists. He feels the bed dip behind him as Louis climbs atop of it and lies behind him. “I’d like you to come with me.”

Harry feels his whole body tense up because no. He feels Louis kiss behind his ear, his breath tickling Harry’s neck.

“No, Lou.” He whispers, slightly appalled that Louis even dared to ask such a thing. He’s not going to go in her home to keep Louis company. It would be an insult to them both.

“Please.” He tugs at Harry’s earlobe with his teeth and the younger boy tenses up for another reason entirely. Louis is used to getting his way. He’s used to Harry doing whatever he tells him to. But Harry won’t give in, not this time. Not even if Louis uses such unfair tactics.

“I can’t, Louis. No. Please don’t ask me that.”

The blue eyed boy lets his breath out in one go and tugs at Harry’s shoulder again. This time the Harry gives into the touch and turns to lie on his back. Louis looks down at him, with his head resting on his right hand and his elbow digging into the pillow next to Harry’s head. He leans in and presses sweet little kisses on Harry’s eyelids.

“Please, Harry. I don’t want to spend all summer without you.”

“Then don’t go.”

Louis lets out a long drawn out whine. He looks so much like the boy Harry met when he arrived in France, young, demanding, and petulant, that it makes him smile. Louis growls a little when he sees the smile and flops heavily on top of Harry. It only makes the younger boy laugh quietly and wrap his arms around Louis’ small waist. Both of the older boy’s hands start playing with Harry’s curls, making him sigh in contentment.

“I would stay here forever, you know that, right?” Louis whispers from where his head is buried on Harry’s neck. In answer, Harry tightens his arms around him.

“I would, too.” He lets that statement and all its implications sink into their souls. He feels Louis’ breath on his neck followed by the tiniest brush of his lips and tries not to let it affect him. When the brush turns into a kiss and then another, however, he can feel himself stirring under the thin sheet. He clears his throat.

“Lou…” He warns, keeping his voice steady. The older boy lifts his head to look into Harry’s eyes and make his breath catch in his throat. Louis’ eyes are dark and dangerous. It’s not the first time Harry’s seen them like this. There is a tension between them that comes sometimes at the most unexpected moments. There are words and actions that haven’t happened but that they both sense in each other’s minds. It’s maddening but Harry has never seriously considered the alternative. Now, lying under Louis’ toned body, covered only by a thin white sheet, this alternative, acting on those thoughts, doesn’t only seem viable, but imminent.

In the candlelight, Louis’ naturally toned skin glows golden and Harry feels dazzled by it. It’s so blinding he wonders what would happen if he blew the candles out. He wonders if Louis would glow in the dark.

Distracted by his own thoughts of Louis’ wondrous skin, he trails his tongue over his lower lip, slowly. He expects the older boy to follow the movement with his eyes, which he does, but he doesn’t foresee Louis lowering his head and licking Harry’s tongue, quick and dirty, before it returns to Harry’s mouth. The younger boy widens his eyes in surprise, not only at the action but at the instant shock of arousal that fattens his cock. His slight gasp brings Louis’ breath into his mouth, warm and wet. The feeling quietly dislodging parts of his sanity from his brain.

Louis seems unrepentant, triumphant even, as he refuses to let Harry’s eyes wander from his.

Mind reeling from arousal and confusion, Harry slowly spreads his legs and bends his knees so that Louis slides between his thighs and his groin presses into Harry’s. The younger boy pants a little at the contact, still carefully watching Louis for any indication that this is not what he wants. The french boy just looks steadily on and, using his arms on either side of Harry’s head as leverage, grinds his hips down almost cruelly, dragging a deep, loud moan from Harry.

 

He can feel Louis’ harden even through the layers of clothing and bedding. His skin starts tingling with a type of pleasure he has never felt before. Hesitantly, he moves his hips up slightly, creating blissful friction. Louis’ quickened breath feels damp and hot against his lips and chin. He opens his mouth slightly again so that they are breathing each other’s air.

“Lou?” He whispers, confused and overwhelmed. Louis answers by starting a steady, tortuous rhythm with his hips. Harry feels raw, burning hot in the summer and the pleasure and Louis, Louis, Louis. They finally break eye contact as Louis lowers his head to whisper right into Harry’s ear, making him dizzy with want.

“You drive me insane. I want you so much, all the time.” Louis starts sucking right behind Harry’s ear. His words hit the younger boy later than they should, he’s so caught up in the whirlwind of heat and want. But when they do, he arcs up with a gasp and brings one of his hands up to bury in Louis’ hair, pulling him into a wet, open-mouthed kiss. He grinds up into the beautiful boy on top of him, adding to the friction. Louis pants into his mouth, eyes dark and intense.

Harry spreads his legs further, trying to bring Louis closer, closer. He wants to wrap himself around the golden-skinned boy, have him all to himself, merge their bodies until no one can ever say they don’t belong to each other. But he’s tangled in the bedsheet. It’s so frustrating he lets out a whine of discontent trying to kick the sheet off while still rubbing up into Louis and firmly trapping it between them. He feels the older boy smile into the kiss and blushes with embarrassment.

Louis sits back on his heels and, with a grace Harry has always envied him, glides out of the bed to stand beside it, looking down at the younger boy.

Harry blinks in confusion at suddenly not having a hot body pressed against him and looks up at Louis pleadingly.

The french prince smirks down at him as he tears the sheet away with a wide, triumphant movement. Harry swallows, suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

“The things I want to do to you, Harry…” Louis’ raspy voice make Harry groan.

“Come here, please.” He extends a hand in Louis’ direction. The older boy smiles and takes off his shirt, revealing even more golden skin and then continues by taking of his breaches. Harry lets out a little whine and opens and closes his hands towards Louis, feeling like a child trying to get sweets deliberately placed out his reach.

The golden-skinned boy gives in and intertwines both his hands with Harry’s as he straddles him with his strong thighs, making the younger boy’s breath hitch. Their mouths meet wetly, with too much tongue for it to be anything but hot and dirty. Harry can’t help the groan that comes out of his throat as Louis takes their intertwined hands and places them on the pillow, right above Harry’s head.

Louis restarts the delicious rhythm against Harry’s crotch, but this time it’s so much better. Their cocks slide against one another making the younger boy dissolve in a chant of “Lou, Lou, Lou”. with his hands trapped, his hips being held down, and the waves of indescribable pleasure coursing through his body, Harry feels like he’s flying. He still feels the sheets beneath him, damp with sweat. He still hears the castles sounds and the subtle crackling of the candles. And yet it all seems far away, from another world, another life.

Suddenly he becomes aware of another sound: a breathy voice whispering right into his ear.

“You drive insane, Harry. Half the time I don’t know how I don’t just jump on you and devour you. You’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t… I want to do things to you, Harry, all sorts of things.”

Harry pants and writhes under Louis, getting dizzy at the words. He had no idea, not a clue.

“Tell me…” He groans, grinding faster up into Louis. “Tell me all the things you’d do to me.”

“Oh, Harry.  I want to make you mine. I want to take you and leave marks on your pretty skin so that everyone knows you’re out of reach.” With these words, Louis sucks harshly on Harry’s neck. Harry whines, the feeling in his neck taking him even further in his fuzzy arousal.

“I want to take you in my mouth and suck you. I want to make you feel so good you can’t even think anymore.” Harry is already getting there, the words triggering shivers that run through his body. He speeds up his thrusts against Louis, feeling his hot, hard cock next to his own, the movements dragging a little, despite the sweat that slicks their skin.

“And…” Louis moans. “I want to be inside you. Would you like that, Harry? Would you like us to be that close?” Harry whimpers, the images burning all coherent thoughts from his mind. “Or maybe you’d like it the other way around. Maybe you’d like to be inside me. I would hold you tight and hot, I wouldn’t want to ever let you go.” That’s too much for Harry. With the image of Louis panting, all sweaty and needy underneath him, he comes, arching his back off the bed. His come splatters on his chest but he pays it no mind as Louis suddenly takes his mouth in a filthy kiss.

 

He feels Louis’ hand move away from his and start tugging at his own cock. Harry makes a noise of protest and manages to snap out of this daze to wrap his hand around Louis’ dick. The amount of sweat between them makes his arm glide easily across their bellies and makes his hand move more somewhat evenly over the cock. The angle isn’t perfect and his wrist starts to hurt quickly but the noises Louis is making right against his cheek are hot enough to keep going.

Louis’ hair is tickling his forehead. There are tiny drops of sweat rolling from his skin and into Harry’s and its so so messy and hot. Harry’s eyes strain to the side to catch every single expression in Louis’ face.

It only takes a minute before Louis’ come joins Harry’s on his chest. Harry groans, the feeling sending shivers of arousal through his spent body. Louis holds himself up with his arm next to Harry’s head and with his other hand he draws swirls with the mess on Harry’s chest and stomach. Harry just looks at him in confusion and sees his eyes are still glazed and dark.

With a finger covered in come, Louis traces the shape of Harry’s lips, staring intently at them as he covers them with their combined spunk. Blinking in exhaustion, Harry licks his lips and Louis’ finger clean and watches as Louis’ breath catches at the action. It tastes salty and not entirely pleasant.

Suddenly, the whole action registers in his mind and he starts giggling. Louis blinks once before joining him. They laugh into each other’s mouth as they kiss again.

“Sorry.” Louis stammers.

“For what?”

“I don’t know… being weird, the stuff I said…” Harry stops him before he can ruin anything.

“Shh, that was good. I liked that. I… I’d like to do those thing with you. We’ll try everything you want when you come back, yeah?”

 

Louis kisses him again and nods.

 

“I don’t want to go now, even more than before.” He complains, hiding his face in Harry’s curls and inhaling.

 

“Then don’t go.” Harry repeats, stubborn.

  
Louis lets out a defeated groan and slumps on top of him, clearly intending to fall asleep there. Harry sighs and decides to put off thinking about anything before the morning. He slides his arms around his friend’s waist and lets his eyes fall closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly my first smut but it's been such a long time it sort of feels like it is. I've been sitting on this chapter for more than a month and I'm still not exactly happy, but I still hope you liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr too. [iwillsingwithyoumyfriend](http://iwillsingwithyoumyfriend.tumblr.com)


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